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194
VALERY YAKOVLEVITCH BRYUSOV
Whose may be the feet that don
Crystal shoon you gaze upon?
Ice in pillars, lustre, snow,
Dainty, flaky, pearly glow.
Strait the passage, slender, long,
Reaching realms where splendours throng;
But to find the path you need,
You must set your foot with heed.
1.* DUSK.
Electrical moons are twinkling
On curving and delicate bands;
The telegraph wires are tinkling
In tender, invisible hands.
The clocks with their amber faces
By magic are lit o'er the crowd;
Of stillness the cooling traces
The thirst-ridden pavement enshroud.
'Neath a net that quivers enchanted,
The square lies hushed in the haze;
The evening has smilingly planted
A kiss on the harlot's gaze.
